


The Soul of Art

by SemaiHeya



Category: Samurai Warriors
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 11:23:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4785551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SemaiHeya/pseuds/SemaiHeya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern, high school AU. Prof. Oda Nobunaga doesn’t just want Motochika to fail school – he has taken away the soul from art, and it is up to Motochika and his favorite Literature teacher to make things right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Soul of Art

“Why do you defy me?” Nobunaga asks, the hungry black holes of his eyes boring into Motochika’s with a haughty gaze. “What is it you desire?”

The younger man standing before him meets the demon-man’s look with one of pure conviction. Chōsokabe Motochika is much older than the other students in his class. He has a promising career in music that has kept him away from school for the last three years. His records and performances sell well, and he is already living on his own, on a remarkable income. He has returned to high school just last year, to attend that one year he was still missing and tie that one loose end in his life, make his family happy and, well, there is another reason, too. Right now, however, is one of those moments when Motochika realizes that his life will be much simpler once he graduates and this demon of a teacher and school principal Oda Nobunaga is finally out of Motochika’s carefully permed hair.

Motochika stares back at him, defiant, his chin tilted slightly up. “You are a terrible Art History teacher, Nobunaga. You have taken a beautiful, engaging subject and turned it into a mere, mindless list of names of artists to be committed to memory along with those of the powerful families and clans that funded them as their patrons. That is the full extent of what you teach in your classes, and nothing more! You have taken the soul out of art. What is more, you treat your students and coworkers alike with appalling unfairness. This, Nobunaga… is why I chose to rebel.”

Nobunaga’s eyes narrow menacingly. “Art is simply worthless, if its purpose is any other than to celebrate a power that can move all under Heaven.” He pauses then, awaiting a reply from his adversary. That reply does not come, however, as Motochika merely holds his gaze, intense hatred in his eyes.

“You have skipped nearly all of my classes so far, and the school year is drawing to an end.” Nobunaga finishes, turning his back to Motochika and beginning to walk away. “Realize that you will not be graduating this year… bat.”

“So be it!” Motochika calls out, pumping his closed fist in the air even as Nobunaga disappears down the hallway.

* * *

About an hour later, Motochika has shamelessly invited himself to the house of his young, promising Literature teacher, who, to Motochika, is absolutely perfect in every, every way, the single exception being the fact that, like all teachers at Musou High, he is Professor Oda’s subordinate.

“I will say this frankly, Motochika… you have made a mess of things.” Professor Akechi Mitsuhide sighs and shakes his head in desperation, and Motochika’s eyes instantly awaken from a lazy torpor to become instantly alert and catch the sight of the afternoon’s golden light shifting off the teacher’s lustrous, silky locks. “Your situation is difficult… even if I agreed to help you study, and even if you passed the end-of-year test, there’s a chance you still won’t be able to graduate, because of your poor Art History attendance. I fear that Nobunaga is right… Unless you want to transfer to another school, you’ll be spending another year at Musou High.”

Motochika smirks and relaxes on the floor of the teacher’s studio. He discards the black leather jacket that he often wears and has earned him the “bat” nickname from Nobunaga. “Another year of your passionate, unforgettable classes… _that_ I could do.”

“Motochika…” Mitsuhide turns away from his student as his cheeks instantly flush with color. Motochika’s attraction to him is almost aggressive at times, but Mitsuhide feels he needs this rebellious, profound young artist in his life, too. A modest, reserved professional, Mitsuhide has never romanced one of his students, nor does he intend to. He is indulging Motochika for the moment, but not the way they both desire. Mitsuhide gives him things that are beginning to feel more and more like consolation prizes, like allowing him to come to his house whenever he feels like it. He has resolved he will not start officially dating him for as long as they remain student and teacher. Which is why it is vital to Mitsuhide that Motochika graduate this year – at this point in their relationship, it is only a matter of time before one of them, and then the two of them both, lose control and give in to their mutual passion. How long will Mitsuhide be able to resist the seduction of his handsome student? Even now, as he sits on the floor, Motochika is wearing a skintight, dark blue tank top that bares just the topmost part of his powerful chest. Mitsuhide’s gaze lingers on that bare skin for a moment, and then a moment too long. Motochika’s eyes intercept his, and they exchange a look full of tension… that will not come to fruition just yet. Mitsuhide turns his head away again, this time to start searching for something on his laptop. “You’re making things hard for us, too, Motochika, not just for yourself… I advise you to take this matter more seriously.” Mitsuhide says, almost breathlessly.

“You have something in mind, don’t you?” From where he is sitting, Motochika can only see the back of Mitsuhide’s head and chair, and bits of the images flicking across the computer screen.  
Mitsuhide nods. “What Nobunaga said to you… It left an opening. One that we can exploit to our advantage…”

“What do you mean?” Motochika asks.

Mitsuhide’s eyes were fixed on the computer screen as he began reciting a poem – Motochika did not possess the entirety of Mitsuhide’s knowledge about poetry even after his classes, but he could tell, by his teacher’s intonation, that the genre was epic.

_“One voice, one shape, which to Anglantes' peer_  
_Seemed his Angelica, beseeching aid._  
_Seemed to Rogero Dordogne's lady dear._  
_Who him a truant to himself had made:_  
_If with Gradasso, or with other near_  
_He spake, of those who through the palace strayed,_  
_To all of them the vision, seen apart,_  
_Seemed that which each had singly most at heart._  
_This was a new and unwonted spell,_  
_Which the renowned Atlantes had composed,_  
_That in this toil, this pleasing pain, might dwell_  
_So long Rogero, by these walls enclosed,_  
_From him should pass away the influence fell,_  
_\-- Influence which him to early death exposed._  
_Though vain his magic tower of steel, and vain_  
_Alcina's art, Atlantes plots again._  
_Not only he, but others who stood high_  
_For valour, and in France had greatest fame,_  
_That by their hands Rogero might not die,_  
_Brought here by old Atlantes' magic came:_  
_While these in the enchanted mansion lie,_  
_That food be wanting not to knight or dame,_  
_He has supplied the dome throughout so well,  
_ _That all the inmates there in plenty dwell.”_

Mitsuhide pauses and turns to glance at Motochika, who hasn’t understood much of anything, but has been thoroughly captivated by Mitsuhide’s tone as he read the poem, a musical rhythm just lingering on actual song. Mitsuhide explains, resuming his normal tone.

“Ah… This is from a chivalric epic. Here, the poet is describing an enchanted castle, where all of the land’s champions gather as they chase after illusions of what they hold most dear. To ensure that the warriors stay, the magician provides them with food and luxury… The author of this epic served a powerful, noble family, to which he always paid tribute and celebrated in the introductions to his works. But here… the castle, the seat of the nobles’ power, is actually a prison – notice the word _inmates_ – a trap, a labyrinth with no escape… This passage is actually a… a disillusioned satire of court life.”

Through Mitsuhide’s explanation, his voice gradually loses the color and passion it possessed just a moment before. And by the time he has finished explaining, the young teacher is shuddering. The sudden change in his attitude does not go unnoticed by Motochika. Like the heroes of the epic poem, Mitsuhide, too, feels trapped, too, by someone exploiting his own, dearest desires. And, like those heroes, he has no way out of this maze…

“The poet is rebelling.” Motochika concludes with a nod. He stands up and moves next to the seated Mitsuhide.

Mitsuhide nods in return, still trembling, an odd, uneven tension in his shoulders and arms.

Motochika whispers his next remark teasingly close to Mitsuhide’s ear. “And you should rebel, too, Mitsuhide…”

“Indeed, I should…” Mitsuhide says under his breath. Then, he whips around suddenly to face Motochika, and the two men’s faces briefly brush against each other.

Mitsuhide recoils instantly at that unexpected contact, but Motochika grips him by the shoulder and pulls him close. “Have no fear.” He says, smirking. “We shall rebel together.”

Much to Motochika’s delighted surprise – evidently there is much he has yet to learn _about_ his teacher as well as _from_ him – it is Mitsuhide who moves in to claim their very first kiss, an exchange of unadulterated passion that will remain etched into their minds for the rest of their lives.

* * *

“Art History class has started, Motochika, and you are about to miss it again.”

As he lazily sits with his back against a tree in the school garden, Motochika opens his eyes to find Ranmaru, the demon-teacher’s pet, looking down at him expectantly.

“As are you, Ranmaru, as you are not in the classroom yourself.” Motochika argued.

“I was instructed by Nobunaga-sensei to find you and bring you back to the classroom, since, as you know, Art History is a mandatory subject, and, because of your attendance, chances that you will graduate this year are looking dire.”

“Just go back, Ranmaru. Tell Nobunaga I was asleep.” Motochika closes his eyes again, pretending to be actually asleep.

Ranmaru shakes his head, his frustration at the older student beginning to show. “I cannot lie to Nobunaga-sensei. Why must you act like this and be so difficult? Nobunaga-sensei has only the school’s best interest in mind!”

“And you are certain of this… how?” Motochika asks, eyes still closed. The truth is that he knows that Nobunaga and Ranmaru are… involved. (This knowledge being the result of an incident involving the search of a private spot on the school grounds for himself and Mitsuhide to meet, only to find out that their designated one was already taken.) And, Motochika is sure, Nobunaga is nowhere as considerate as Mitsuhide is. Nobunaga and Ranmaru have probably been sleeping together for a very long time. Speculation on their relationship aside, what happens in broad daylight is that Nobunaga commands Ranmaru to do his every bidding, and Ranmaru always loyally obliges… To Motochika, their strange connection reeks of abuse and one-sidedness.

“Nobunaga-sensei is simply the best principal this school has ever had.” Ranmaru asserts, pure pride in his voice and eyes. “If you find his Art History classes boring, or unsatisfactory, it must be because he is too absorbed by his other duties as school principal to prepare classes that are interesting to all of us.”

“Then he should quit his teaching job, and leave it to somebody capable and passionate, like Mitsuhide.” There is a new intensity in Motochika’s voice – even as he keeps feigning sleep – as he utters the name of his beloved Literature teacher.

“You’re not coming, are you, Motochika…” Ranmaru asks meekly, finally surrendering to Motochika’s stubbornness.

“I am not. But you may keep asking, if what you wish is to waste this hour away and skip that dreadful class with me.”

This time, Ranmaru openly sighs his irritation at his older classmate and clenches his fists at his sides. “Why must you act like this, though? I wish to know why!”

Motochika finally opens his eyes to properly answer Ranmaru. “With his dry, utilitarian approach, Nobunaga has taken the soul away from art. That, I cannot forgive.”

“I see.” Ranmaru narrows his eyes, undaunted. “I will report this meeting to Nobunaga-sensei. And you will regret standing in Nobunaga-sensei’s path!”

With that last, ominous warning, the boy turns away from Motochika and walks back to the school building.

Motochika closes his eyes again, and reflects. Nobunaga has not just stolen the soul from art… He has stolen this boy’s soul, as well. And someday, he will pay for that, too.

* * *

Motochika aces the Art History final, and Mitsuhide can finally enjoy some well-deserved sleep, instead of having to stay awake at very odd hours just to explain the entire textbook to a very stubborn student.

Before the start of the schoolyear’s very last Art History class, Nobunaga enters the classroom and finds a gorgeous, leather-bound tome sitting on his desk. Inside is an exhaustive review of several works of figurative arts, complete with fine quality pictures of them, all brought together by a common theme: rebellion.

Artists serving powerful people and families who use the very works they were commissioned by them to defy them. Renaissance paintings and frescoes teeming with arcane symbols conveying political messages not endorsed by the rich patrons. Goya’s unflattering portraits of the Spanish ruling class.

Needless to say, the college-grade dissertation bears the signature of Chōsokabe Motochika.

Motochika earns a passing grade in Art History and nobody, not even Mitsuhide, knows if this was Nobunaga’s own decision, or a recommendation by other teachers. One day, Nobunaga summons Mitsuhide to his office to seriously discuss the possibility of Mitsuhide teaching Art History for the next school year in Nobunaga’s stead, and along with his Literature courses. The double workload involved would be overwhelming for any teacher, but Nobunaga insists that it is fully within Mitsuhide’s capabilities. Mitsuhide has yet to give a definitive answer – after all, right now there are other things on his mind besides work.

Motochika graduates from Musou High that very year, and spends the entire summer doing a live tour in Shikoku, his birthplace, accompanied by his new boyfriend. During a moment of respite, said boyfriend brushes his face against Motochika’s broad chest as they look over the ocean together.

“You know… That dissertation alone could win you a place at one of Japan’s top universities…” Mitsuhide comments, a remark completely unrelated to their previous conversation.

“I already have my place, Mitsuhide.” Motochika gives his lover’s body an affectionate squeeze. “Here, with you.”

Mitsuhide closes his eyes and breathes in the mixed scents of Motochika and the ocean, as his mind searches for a suitable love poem for this moment. Yes, there is no reason to use that dissertation for anything else, is there? It has already served its purpose.

Art has a soul again.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a fun fic that wrote itself one night! I probably plagiarized something or someone, so I apologize in advance.
> 
> The three long stanzas quoted by Mitsuhide are from Ariosto's "Orlando Furioso".


End file.
